


Revenge is Best Served Naked

by itsmylifekay, WhatTheBodyGraspsNot



Series: I'll love you in the cornfields, I'll love you in the hay; I'll love you back in Brooklyn where my heart still loves to stay [5]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: M/M, and so is steve once he catches on, bucky is a vindictive lil shit, dont mess with pikesville, shameless carhood sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-30
Updated: 2014-09-30
Packaged: 2018-02-19 10:15:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2384678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsmylifekay/pseuds/itsmylifekay, https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatTheBodyGraspsNot/pseuds/WhatTheBodyGraspsNot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's supposed to be simple-- Steve's being nice, bringing Bucky some dinner. But of course Bucky has to shoot that plan to hell by being hot and sweaty and covered in car grease (see: too attractive to pass up).</p>
<p>Dinner is forgotten, grudges are not, and this is really just multiple pages of shameless car hood sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Revenge is Best Served Naked

\---+---

_“Stevie, hey--I won’t be home for dinner tonight. Figured I’d let you know in case you were planning on makin’ some big meal or something.”_

_“Long day at the garage then? Or you got something else planned?”_

_“More like some guy just dropped his Porsche off and wants it fixed by tomorrow. Gonna have to pull an all-nighter for this prick.”_

_“Do you have any of your lunch left? Or are you just going to eat from the vending machine like the adult you are?”_

_“Might be a few Twinkies left in the machine, yeah…”_

“Might be a few Twinkies…” Steve grumbles under his breath, shaking his head as he pushes at the back entrance to the garage. “Like Twinkies are actual food…” He still can’t believe Bucky had been planning on working through the night on a sugar-filled Twinkie high. But then again, he _can_ believe it because Bucky still tends to have moments where he thinks he’s a teenager again. Which is why he, the fantastic partner that he is, is bringing Bucky some dinner with actual carbs and nutrition in it. Because he loves him and is his part-time mother like that.

“Buck?” He calls, moving through the small employee area and into the main garage. He can’t see Bucky anywhere, but he can hear the clinking and clanking of tools so he knows he’s close by. Probably just behind a car or ducked down to get something. There’s a shiny silver car set up a few feet away and he wanders over to it, figuring it’s the car Bucky meant since he doesn’t recognize it from around town (and it looks like it costs about as much as their house), but there’s still no Bucky in sight. “Buck,” he calls again. “You scare me and I flush your share of dinner down the toilet.”

There’s the distinctive clatter of metal against metal, and then Bucky appears like clockwork, smoothly rolling out from underneath the car’s front end with an interested grin. “Dinner?”

Somewhere in the back of Steve’s brain, a part of him registers that he’s supposed to respond to that, but he’s too distracted by the grease edging up the side of Bucky’s face to offer more than a dry swallow and a clearing of his throat. Because _hell he’s not prepared for this._ Sure, he’s used to Bucky coming home a little dirty, clothes sweaty from a day at work, but apparently the walk home exponentially decays the true magic that happens while Bucky’s in the garage. Because right now...he’s absolutely stunning.

(Not that Steve would ever admit it out loud, Bucky’s already too cocky for his own good.)

But he’s got grease smeared on his hands, up his arms; a sheen of sweat all along his skin, dampening the fabric above his sternum and making the rest of his shirt cling to his chest. His hair is mussed and his face is flushed and all Steve can think is how this is _exactly_ what Bucky looks like after sex. Except their lube is clear and not the dark color of the grease.

And now Bucky’s standing up, wiping his hands on dirty jeans and taking the necessary two steps to be right up in his space.

And _shit_...he smells like stale sweat and _Bucky_ and Steve is definitely not prepared.

“Whatdya bring me?” Bucky grins, using a semi clean finger to pull at the opening of the bag in Steve’s arms, peeking in with curiosity. Because whatever it is, it’s definitely better than the Twinkies that he’d planned on jostling out of the vending machine.

Somehow, Steve manages to formulate a response this time. “Soup, bread, and blueberries.” Not the most elaborate of responses, but it works.

It’s certainly enough for Bucky. “Damn,” he smirks, pulling back after getting an adequate peek into the bag. “You must like me or something.”

“Or something...” Steve mutters back. “Just didn’t want you dying on my watch. Your mother would have my hide.” And yes, yes that’s good. Mention Bucky’s mother, maybe then his body will decide to behave.

Bucky takes a step back, one eyebrow raising as he watches Steve fidget, “More like _you’d_ have my hide…” Steve swallows again and this time Bucky follows the movement with his eyes, smug grin stretching across his face. “Not that I’d mind. You can have my hide any time you want, Stevie.”

Steve shakes his head, trying to stop the flush creeping across his face and down his chest. But it’s a futile effort. He can never quite keep himself in check when Bucky looks at him like that, when he’s figured out what Steve wants and is just playing around a bit before finally getting to the point. “Shut up,” Steve grumbles, setting the bag down on a nearby tool bench and closing the sparse distance between them. “And don’t tease me, Barnes. I can still relegate you to vending machine Twinkies if I want.”

“Hm…” The sudden lack of space between them catches Bucky a little more off guard than it should, considering the way Steve’s been looking at him. And it’s _that_ look. The look that means Steve is _horny._ It’s a rare thing, especially in this kind of intensity, and he almost can’t believe what he’s seeing considering that they’re currently standing in the middle of the garage and he’s covered in all kinds of crap. He’s dirty, and sweaty, and just generally gross and while all of Steve’s signals are screaming at him to get naked and go to town, the logical part of his brain is remembering all the times Steve made him fucking _wash his hands_ before he was allowed into bed. “You uh...you feelin’ alright, pal?”

Steve sees the confusion twist across Bucky’s face and internally groans, because of course this would be the one time Bucky actually chooses to behave himself. Fortunately, Bucky isn’t the only one who knows how to start shit.

“Just fine, _pal_.” Steve says back, the smirk on his lips visible for only a moment before he’s pushing up and crushing their mouths together, one hand fisted in the front of Bucky’s shirt and the other already tugging at the hair at the nape of his neck. He tilts his head to get a better angle and when he parts his lips slightly, Bucky finally responds, getting over his shock and kissing Steve back. And he’s so _warm,_ his arms and his chest and his lips making Steve go unbearably hot wherever they touch.

Bucky groans low in the back of his throat and reaches for Steve, wrapping both hands around bony hips and drawing him close and closer still, backing up just a bit until he’s leaned against the hood of the Porsche and Steve is all but straddling one of his thighs. “Shit, Steve,” he breathes, ducking down to nose at the soft skin just beneath Steve’s jaw. “Didn’t think you usually let me have dessert before dinner.” He chuckles lightly at his own joke then bites off a moan when Steve grinds down against his thigh.

“Got a problem with it?” Steve asks quietly, leaning back and putting both hands flat on Bucky’s chest. He can feel Bucky’s heartbeat strong beneath his palm, the heat of him through each pad of his fingers. And Bucky’s just looking up at him with these darkened eyes, muscles tense beneath him, sturdy and warm in a way that has a shiver racing up the back of Steve’s spine.

And Steve is _gone._ Bucky’s been with Steve enough times to know the look, to read the signs, and right now...the way Steve’s looking at him, the slight hitch to his breaths, he’s acting like Bucky’s already spent half an hour with fingers knuckle deep in his ass. Which, okay, yeah, Bucky can work with this. He knows how to take care of Steve in moments like these. “Course not,” Bucky murmurs, “Always want you.”

“Then prove it,” Steve says back, both because he can and because he needs Bucky’s hands on him now. Needed them yesterday, really.

And Bucky’s quick to comply, picking one hand up and threading strong fingers through Steve’s hair, dragging him forward and crushing their mouths together. His other hand grabs at Steve’s ass (because really, he’ll take any excuse to grab at Steve’s ass), and hauls him closer, getting another thigh in between both of Steve’s before deciding _fuck it_ and flipping them around, pinning Steve against the hood of the Porsche. Steve lets out a groan at the switch and Bucky takes the opportunity to lick firmly at Steve’s lips, getting that jaw open so he can taste the little noises Steve makes as Bucky starts in on the buttons of his shirt.  

Steve’s suspenders go next, one of the clips pulled from his waistband in Bucky’s enthusiasm, and soon hang limply around his thighs. Bucky’s still got his tongue in Steve’s mouth and Steve groans around it, back arching when Bucky pulls away to bite at his lip. His shirt hits the floor and the hood of the car is cold against his suddenly bare skin. “Buck,” he groans, both in shock and surprised arousal, amazed at the conflicting sensations of Bucky hot against his chest and the cool metal against his back. His hands that had been gripping Bucky’s biceps dip lower instead, sliding underneath the fabric of Bucky’s shirt so his fingers can map out the space beneath. Bucky’s skin is smooth as usual, but slick with sweat, muscles twitching under his touch as Steve brushes over his abs and up to the dusting of hair across his chest. Bucky’s shirt is still on and the angle is terrible, but Steve is pretty sure he’s never felt anything more amazing in his life. He makes a mental note to visit Bucky at work more often.

Then, because he is in fact aware of what Bucky’s currently doing to his brain and not wanting to risk it, he pants into Bucky’s mouth the next time the other man pulls away, “You should...miss dinner...more often.”

Bucky grins, nibbling at Steve’s bottom lip and pulling it between his teeth before letting go. “Might miss tomorrow then,” he teases, his fingers dipping into the waistband of Steve’s pants. “And Wednesday. And Thursday.” Because _damn_ , if this is what he gets when he can’t make it home for dinner, Bucky might find some extra work to do around the shop. “Friday’s not lookin’ good either...”

Steve lets out a breathy laugh, trying not to squirm at the feeling of Bucky’s calloused fingers edging beneath the fabric of his pants. “Don’t wear yourself out.”

Bucky slides his fingers underneath the lining until they meet at the middle, popping open the button there. “Got plenty of energy to take care of you.”

“Yeah?” Steve asks. He reaches out and puts a hand on each side of Bucky’s face, pulling him in for another lingering kiss before wrapping arms around his neck, using the leverage to help Bucky slip off his pants. “Cause I- I can think of a few things that could still use some work.”

Bucky stands back for a second, taking in the outrageously exciting image of Steve, naked, stretched out on the hood of this stupidly expensive car. But it’s only for a moment. Because then he’s right back, pressing against him and leaving a trail of kisses up Steve’s neck. “Like what, boss? I _do_ aim to please…”

“Like…” Steve says, then trails off, tilting his head to give Bucky better access. He bites his lip and looks up at the ceiling to stop the truly embarrassing sounds threatening to escape as Bucky licks over a particular bite mark. Only once he’s confident he’s got himself pulled together does he slip one hand down to the collar of Bucky’s shirt and tug it to the side, thumbing over Bucky’s collarbone before saying, “Like this. You should take it off.”

Bucky can’t help the smirk that dances across his lips, adrenaline pumping with each of Steve’s demands. “Yes, sir,” he says, pulling back and then hooking his fingers underneath the hem of his oil-smudged shirt, making sure Steve has the best possible view as he tugs it over his head.

Bucky lowers himself back down and Steve _groans,_ arching up to press himself all along Bucky’s newly exposed chest. His hands are everywhere, sliding up Bucky’s sides to his chest, to the back of his neck and then down his spine. There’s sweat and grime from Bucky’s hands and arms now smeared between their chests but Steve doesn’t mind in the least. Instead, he’s more focused on the way the fabric of Bucky’s jeans is chafing at the inside of his bare thighs.

“Buck,” he groans, halfway between arousal and annoyance. “Why are your fucking pants still on?”

“Because someone hasn’t taken them off me yet,” Bucky says, swaying his hips just a little, just enough for that friction that’s probably not the most comfortable for Steve, but it helps make his point. “Usually you’re all over that shit.”

Steve pants and glares up at him, “Kind of hard to do that when you’ve got me pinned to a car, Buck. But fine,” He pushes Bucky back with two solid hands on his chest, then hops down so he’s back on solid ground, hands immediately working on the button and fly of Bucky’s pants. “If you’re going to be a shit about it...”  He opens them and tugs them down in one harsh motion, jeans and boxers all at once.

It’s rough and abrasive and Steve is probably doing it to be a pain in the ass, but all it does is turn Bucky on even more, the cool air in the shop gracing his otherwise heated skin as he steps out of the jeans entirely. And Steve’s standing there, in all his smug glory, so Bucky has no choice but to move forward again, hands beneath Steve’s thighs as he picks him up and presses him against the hood of the Porsche again, leaning down with him until Steve’s on his back. “Stay here,” he says against his lips, voice gone deep, before pulling away to rummage through the toolbox a few feet away.

And Steve does what he’s told, more or less, propping himself up on his elbows to keep his balance and watching the way the muscles in Bucky’s back move. Then Bucky’s back, slotting himself between Steve’s thighs and leaning over him again, ducking down to press a row of messy kisses up his throat before nudging at his cheek. Steve turns to meet his mouth and shivers when one calloused palm smooths down his side, slipping beneath his thigh and hooking it up around Bucky’s waist. There’s the telltale click of a bottle and then a cool finger is teasing at his entrance. “You always,” Steve groans, swallowing thickly before trying again. “You always keep lube in your toolbox?”

Bucky can’t help the proud grin that surfaces. He continues to circle his finger, bites down on Steve’s collarbone, says: “That a problem?” and then gently starts to ease his finger inside, encouraged by the breathy sigh that falls from Steve’s mouth.

“No, just- just a bit presumptuous.” Steve says, digging his nails into Bucky’s back as Bucky starts to thrust his finger in and out at an agonizingly slow pace. “Wasn’t even a packet, was a whole bottle. Don’t need to worry, do I?”

Bucky rolls his eyes, mutters, “Don’t be fucking stupid...” until he glances up, sees the very real concern that Steve is probably trying to not let show. That’s when he takes a second, brow furrowing as he uses his free hand to anchor himself and lean forward, brushing his lips against Steve’s. “Just need you, Stevie,” he breathes out, voice softening. “Just want you…” and then he slips another finger in, setting a comfortable pace and kissing Steve again.  

And Steve kisses him back, pushing up into him desperately and clutching at his shoulder blades, trying to get them closer. Because _shit_ sometimes Steve forgets just how amazing Bucky is, how lucky he is to have him. And as much as he jokes about not wanting Bucky’s ego to get any larger, he sometimes wonders if he doesn’t say it enough...doesn’t let Bucky know just how special he is to Steve the same way that Bucky always makes sure to reassure Steve. “Can’t even believe you’re real sometimes,” Steve whispers, “Can’t even believe this is real.” Bucky’s fingers twist a bit on their way out and Steve groans, panting through the sensation, “Want you so bad, Buck.” _Want you all the time. Want to keep you right here._ “Never want you to leave.”

And it’s the truth. Steve doesn’t even want to think about what he’d do if Bucky decided to move on, to Brooklyn or to another person. He knows he’s not perfect, is under no illusions as to how the rest of society views his body, but he just has to believe in the promises Bucky whispers in his ear, the confessions of how beautiful he thinks Steve to be. But when he sees Bucky in moments like this, confident and handsome and _his..._ It’s hard to believe it’s real.

“Don’t know why you always say that,” Bucky breathes, working out the rhythm he’s created and not wasting any time before leaving more open-mouthed kisses all across Steve’s chest. “Not gonna leave ya, you punk.”

Something warm blooms in Steve’s chest and he archs up into Bucky’s mouth, moving one hand up to tangle in Bucky’s hair. “Say it again,” he murmurs. “Buck, please, say it again.”

Bucky moves his fingers inside him, pressing gently at that angle that he _knows_ Steve adores. “Not gonna leave you,” he hums, copying the movement again and then once more until Steve starts to squirm beneath him, smooth and needy and perfect. “Never gonna leave you, Stevie.”

“ _Buck_ ,” Steve moans, pressing back into Bucky’s hand. “Need you, Buck, _please._ ”

It sounds like heaven to Bucky’s ears--something Steve says only when he’s completely lost in their own moment. It’s something Bucky doesn’t get to hear often, so when it finally escapes Steve, breathy and needy and so fucking real, Bucky can’t imagine doing anything except taking it to heart--feeling the words in his very core and then giving Steve what he needs.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, reaching blindly for the bottle and flicking open the cap as he kisses Steve like his fucking life depends on it. “Got you…”

And Steve groans into him, clutching at every part of Bucky he can reach before settling both hands in Bucky’s hair, tangling the thick strands between his fingers and tugging. “Please _,”_ he pants, “ _Please.”_ He doesn’t even know what he’s asking for anymore, not really, but he doesn’t care either, just knows that he needs Bucky, needs every part of him, as much as he can give. And he trusts that Bucky knows what to do, that Bucky’s got him just like he says he does.

Bucky does...always does--knows exactly how to take care of his Steve and make him feel like he’s on cloud nine. So when he reaches down, framing Steve’s hips with his hands before lining himself up and easing inside of him, the way Steve’s mouth drops open sparks a certain amount of pride in Bucky’s veins, encouraging him to roll his hips against Steve until those noises he craves to hear begin to fill the air. “Got you,” he breathes out again, hands still grabbing at Steve’s hips.

The next movement has Bucky bottoming out, warm and unmoving between Steve’s thighs. Steve groans out another plea of _Bucky_ and _Please,_ but Bucky just grinds against him until Steve is letting out a choked sound against Bucky’s lips. It’s both torture and exactly what Steve needs, Bucky taking him to the edge and keeping him there, keeping them together until Steve can’t think of anything else. Then Bucky’s hands are sliding down, back into the space between Steve’s ass and thighs, fingers curling against the skin there before gripping tight and yanking Steve’s thighs around his waist. Steve momentarily forgets how to breathe, then lets out a gasp as he slides down the hood of the car, fingers clenching in surprise and pulling a groan out of Bucky as they come even tighter together.

But the burst of pleasure that races up his spine isn’t enough to mask the sensation of _metal_ beneath his back. Because shit… “Buck, the car,” he starts to say, “We can’t-”

Bucky groans, still holding Steve’s thighs as he begins to pick up pace, snapping his hips forward and watching as Steve moves against the sleek shine of the car’s hood--blushed, beautiful skin over a pristine paintjob. It’s like a work of fucking art, if you ask him. “What about it…?”

“We shouldn’t...this isn’t _ours,_ Bucky.”

And of course it isn’t, that’s half the thrill of it. But Steve doesn’t seem so convinced, that flare of excitement dwindling down to obvious concern. And that’s just not acceptable, not after Bucky’s seen how badly Steve truly seems to need this moment of letting go.

“S’okay,” he reassures, leaning forward to brush his lips against Steve’s forehead. “S’okay. Promise.” The answer he gets is a tiny, unconvinced whine. So Bucky grinds into Steve, smooth and filthy as he ghosts his lips over Steve’s, muttering, “Lemme make you feel good, Stevie...”

And yeah, under normal circumstances Steve would probably fight back more, but these are not normal circumstances. Not at all. Not when he’s got Bucky moving into him and over him, Bucky’s lips just barely against his own… Thankfully, his hands are still buried in Bucky’s hair so all it takes is a sharp tug for that mouth to be on his. He bites at Bucky’s lip and gets a low growl in response, followed by a sharp snap of Bucky’s hips that has him groaning and scooting up the hood of the car. Bucky takes advantage of the opening and pushes into Steve’s mouth, thrusting his tongue in time with his hips.

Bucky is warm and solid above him and the metal beneath his back has become warm as well, slicked with their sweat and squeaking slightly with each thrust that has Steve sliding farther up the hood, only to be brought down again by Bucky’s firm grasp on his thighs. Steve’s eyes squint shut and his toes curl, a familiar heat tightening his core. But he _shouldn’t,_ he really shouldn’t, not on someone else’s car. “Bucky,” he half-whines, half-moans.

And Bucky knows that voice, knows exactly what that certain hitch in Steve’s breath and the way his eyes are beginning to gloss over means. He’s heard it and seen it so many times and right now it’s all he wants for Steve. “C’mon,” he says, quickening his thrusts and grabbing at Steve’s thighs so tightly that there might be marks later but he doesn’t care--just wants Steve feeling the best he can. “C’mon, Steve. Come for me, Steve,” and he hardly recognizes his own voice--rough like gravel--but it doesn’t matter, not when Steve’s eyes are squeezing shut like that, thighs tightening around Bucky’s waist. “C’mon.”

And Steve wants to, so, so badly he wants to. But he just _can’t_. His fingers grip tighter into Bucky’s hair and his thighs twitch where they’re clenched in place. “ _Bucky,_ ” he cries, voice catching and sounding more wrecked than he ever intended.

“I’ve got you, Steve.” Bucky says again, a fierce promise in every word. “I’ve got you, but you’ve gotta let go.” He presses his lips to Steve’s then moves to the corner of his mouth to murmur, “I _promise_ I’ve got you, Steve, and I’m not ever gonna let you go.”

And Steve’s entire world goes white, body tensing as he spills between their chests, shouts of Bucky’s name falling from his lips as he finally goes limp against the hood of the car. But Bucky’s got him, Bucky won’t let him fall. He lets out a breathy sigh and drags his fingers down from Bucky’s hair to his neck. “Buck…” he mumbles. “Buck, c’mon, need you…”

And Bucky’s already there, the sight of Steve--pleased and flushed and fucking gorgeous underneath him--already enough to push him over the edge, his entire body tensing for a moment before wave after wave of pleasure rolls through him. “Fuck,” he pants, his brow furrowing and their eyes locking as he comes. “ _Fuck_ , _Steve_.”  

Steve manages a small smile at that, letting out a breathy laugh as he trails his hands down Bucky’s arms, keeping one hand on his bicep but sliding the other all the way down until he can thread their fingers together. “Think you already did.”

Bucky huffs out a laugh, eyes falling shut as he leans forward and rests their foreheads together. His voice is still wrecked, leaving him to croak out an amused: “You _think_?”

There’s a sticky film between him and the car, as well as cum drying between their stomachs, and Steve makes a show of squirming in discomfort before saying, “I think the evidence speaks for itself. You’re going to have to stay later to clean this up...” He grimaces and looks over to the bag of food now lying forgotten on the tool bench. “I’ll help you, and then make us something else when we get home.”

Bucky smirks, half joking and half really fucking curious about Steve’s reaction as he shrugs and mumbles: “Who says I’m cleaning anything up?”

“What?” Steve freezes at that, using the hand on Bucky’s arm to push him back then sit up. (He doesn’t let go of Bucky’s hand, though. Doesn’t plan to until absolutely necessary.) “Buck, you have to.” He turns back to look pointedly at the smudge marks all across the hood of the car.

But Bucky just shrugs again, completely amused with how Steve’s horror increases with every passing second. Especially when he says, “I dunno. The guy was a real dick when he dropped it off. Think maybe he doesn’t deserve a fixed fuel line _and_ a wash.”

Steve is still not in the least bit convinced. “What’d he do that you think deserves sex smudges all over his car?”

“Well first off, he called me ‘boy’,” Bucky glares at the memory. “And second, he made it pretty fucking clear that he’s an important guy and doesn’t wanna be stuck in a shit hole like Pikesville.”

And, _okay then,_ Steve understands. Steve definitely understands. His eyes narrow to match Bucky’s and he glances back at the hood, now seeming not quite smudged enough… “So, that’s two offences, huh?” He asks, turning back to Bucky with a slowly growing smirk. “Pretty sure we only left one set of smudges on his car.”

Bucky grins, his mouth curling into an awful smirk. That’s his boy. “You’re right,” he muses, fingers slowly trailing down Steve’s stomach. “Guess it’s only fair.”

“Mhmm,” Steve agrees, urging Bucky forward until their lips meet in the middle, smiling and laughing into each other’s mouths as Bucky once again pins him to the car. “Not uncalled for at all.”

And this is why Bucky loves Steve--is totally and completely fucking enamored with him. He takes the time to tell him, muttering it in his ear as he fucks him against that stupid prick’s car a second time. And Steve holds onto him and one thing leads to another and neither of them have any difficulty letting go this time.

Bucky looks down at Steve when they’re done, chests heaving and skin sweaty, and says, “You know...he’s probably gonna give a shit tip, too...”

And if Steve smirks back at him, mischievous spark still clear in both of their eyes, then that’s their business.

 

\---+---

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr, hit us up! (especially [whatthebodygraspsnot](whatthebodygraspsnot.tumblr.com) cuz she takes recs that occasionally bleed into colabs with [itsmylifekay](itsmylifekay.tumblr.com)


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